Hot Love Scenes and Occupational Hazards

Would I be bragging when I say my love scenes are so hot I set my desk on fire?

Truth.

 In Heartbeat of the Moon, the second book in my Rhythm of the Moon series, I spent a considerable amount of time writing passionate scenes. I don't mind that. In fact, it's one of my favorite things about writing this series, mainly because of the relationship between my two characters, Maggie and Ian. They are quite opposite from one another, but once he breaks her resistance, their passion for each other is dynamite.

Dynamite...which brings me to that afternoon in my office. I had a candle going and low volume instrumental music in the background. It was violinist, Doug Cameron's, "Passion Suite."

Every writer has their method of working. Mine is very tactile. I use butcher paper to track the plot, chapter by chapter. This was a pivotal scene, and I'd been analyzing the plot every so often.

I was experiencing one of those wonderful intense times when I'm so immersed in the scene and my characters that the world fades away to two lovers, expressing with their bodies what they can't express in words...

The smell of smoke pulled my brain out of my book. The butcher paper had caught on fire. I scuffled to put the fire out and knocked a mug of coffee off the table.

Hubby called, "What's going on up there?"

"Nothing. Nothing."

Luckily, nothing was damaged, except for the plot on the butcher paper and my pride.

Don't ever let anyone tell you that being an author isn't a dangerous occupation. Maybe I need to take a course on how to write love scenes safely.

Safe sex?

Inspiration/Butt Glue

I believe the number one question asked by readers is, “Where do you get your ideas, or What is your inspiration?”

When I started writing it was just something I did to entertain myself. My husband kept saying I should share that entertainment with the world. I’ve never been a flamboyant, “put yourself out there” kind of person, so I just ignored him. As I came nearer to finishing my first manuscript, I began to share it with a few close friends. They loved it, and in turn, urged me to “do something with it”.
My Beau started researching publishers and writer’s groups. He put me on to The Sunshine State Romance Authors, Inc., a local chapter of Romance Writers of America, and the rest is history. They have since disbanded, but they were a wonderful group of talented, knowledgeable women who took me in and set my feet on the path to fulfillment. Watching them succeed gave me energy and hope. They truly made me feel a part of this crazy, wistful, often ditzy world of writing.
They also introduced me to something called butt glue. A little ‘gift’ they would share with a different someone at each month’s meeting. This story is about how I came to know, and love, butt glue.

I knew it had to happen, sooner or later, and I had been dreading it for some time. I mean, I had been lucky and managed to dodge this thing for over a year!
Since it was inevitable, I thought, why not just get it over with; so, at one of the meetings I volunteered for the Butt Glue.

What? You’ve never heard of the infamous butt-glue? Well, it was invented by a really devious woman, one Jennifer Taylor. A member of a group of writers who are known to have knowledge of things like lust and hope, mayhem and laughter, murder and romance, not necessarily in that order or grouping. And the sole purpose of this invention was to put one’s butt in a chair (or on a stool, or even on a chaise at poolside, so I’ve heard) and keep you there until you have birthed and recorded words. Lots and lots of words. It was a small bottle of Elmer’s that we passed from one writer to another at each meeting. Mind you, it was purely symbolical, not to be actually spread on a seat! And I still believe Jennifer should have patented her idea!

Well, I had been a little short on words lately (that’s my husband you hear choking in the background, as he rolls on the floor with tears streaming from his laughing eyes), so I did what any savvy writer would do. I volunteered for the Butt Glue.

I marched into the office one morning, firmly planted that little white bottle down beside my keyboard and waited. And waited. And waited.

Nothing. And believe me, I recognize nothing when I see it staring back at me from that blinding white page.

I became so disillusioned by the nothingness of it all, that I lowered my head to the desktop and waited for tears.

Suddenly I felt a firm grip on my wrist and the sensation of air, first softly stirring my hair, then rushing by so fast that it began to roar. I opened my eyes and found nothing but blackness and what might have been stars. Did I mention that I am deathly afraid of heights? So, I clamped those eyes of mine firmly closed and was just about to scream, when I became aware of the smell of salt air. The wind had slowed and was now playing with my long, wavy, copper tresses. What?!
I opened my eyes and found myself standing on a cliff, staring out over Sinclair Bay and behind me was the Ackergill Tower, standing majestically against the Caithness countryside. It was coming on dusk and the Northern Lights had begun to infuse the skies over Scotland with pale greens and lavenders. I turned at the sound of pounding hooves, only to see a man of magnificent proportions wrapped in nothing but a Tartan plaid. He brought the horse to a sliding halt, vaulted off and dropped to one knee in front of me. Good Lord, what a man! Eyes like polished steel, arms that had been burnished by the sun and rippled with bands of muscles, and ebony hair that set off a jawline of granite. He took my hand, looked deeply into my eyes, and said, “Och, ye bonny lass, where ha’ ye been all me life?”

At least that’s what it sounded like to me. I can’t be sure because the wind in that darn tunnel had started roaring again; my feet left the ground and all I could see was that bottle of glue pulling me into the tunnel.

When I opened my eyes again, it was to see the evening sun setting behind a wall of granite and snow topped mountains. I was standing on the front porch of a roughly-hewn log cabin, holding a metal bar in my hand and looking at a triangular dinner-bell. Unsure of what might happen, I swallowed hard and used the bar to “ring” the bell. I gave it a good hearty ring, then waited for the outcome.
I saw movement near the barn. I watched as a tall, lean but muscular and shirtless cowboy rounded the corner, wiping sweat with the bandana he removed from his neck.

As he got closer, I could see those ice-blue eyes with lines at the corners from squinting in the Colorado sun. I could see the cording across that broad chest, leading down to his narrowed waist. Those piercing eyes met mine and I lost all coherent thought. My breath was coming in short gasps. Then he spoke in a voice that rumbled up out of that sweat wet chest. “Woman, you can put supper back in the oven. Right now, all I want is a bath and you.”

I could feel a tug at my shoulder and a sharp pain across the back of my neck. I raised my head and wiped the drool from the side of my mouth as my husband said, “You silly goose, if you need a nap, go stretch out in the recliner.”

I was confused. I looked around, and the only thing I saw that registered in my sleep-fogged brain was that darn bottle of butt glue. And then in a flash of blinding light, well okay, when my husband turned on the overhead light in the office, things became clear.

I saw the lambs-wool, tartan-plaid throw, that I won at the on-line “Rogues” party from the lovely Grace Burrowes, folded neatly on the corner of my desk. On top of it lay the old, but much loved, arrowhead that my grandson brought back from a camping trip near Denver.

I looked back at the bottle of butt glue and knew the truth. The glue works in a different way for each of us. My need was for inspiration. The glue had taken some of the many “themes” of inspiration that were right under my nose and “cemented” them in my unconscious mind.
My work-in-progress still needs words, but my notebook of “possibilities” is bulging with new ideas!
Thanks, Butt Glue, and may you do for others what you’ve done for me.

You can follow me on line at    https://bit.ly/3f0klAF

Travel Light—with a Book!

Books are the best vacation. They take you WHERE and WHEN you want to go. Add a great big hunky WHO to that, and you’re ready to fly. Got an urge to visit Scotland? No problem. Aching to see what it was like five hundred years ago? Climb aboard. Feeling giddy at the mention of magic spells and kilts? Have at it! Books can be found to satisfy all wondering and wandering souls.

One of the greatest rewards of reading Fantasy Romance is the freedom to explore various places, times, and mythological characters—and still bask in a happy ending. Here are a few WHERE, WHEN, and WHO fun facts from my Wytchfae Series of interconnecting standalone books.

WHERE

The Beaches and Graveyards of Contemporary Florida

Wytchfae stories often begin in the sunshine state. New Smyrna Beach serves as the beautiful blue backdrop for Kelly’s ghostly transitions in Wytchfae Runes. Her favorite spirit by far is Ingvar the Viking.

Under the Sea

Samael reigns there in Guardian of the Deep, and Layla is thrilled to linger in his submerged palace as well—until the demons close in.

Underworld

Among the dark and winding tunnels, readers visit the somber abode of the zombie-like Grims and everyone’s favorite (not!) resting place, ruled by the goddess Helle.

WHEN

712 AD - Norway

Ingvar shows Kelly his Viking birthplace in Wytchfae Runes. She feels quite at home until three thugs and an evil sorcerer appear on the scene.

Medieval times – England

In Lord of Fire, Garnet may have enjoyed her visit to the Middle Ages, if those pesky townspeople hadn’t branded her a witch.

1920s - Florida

A spell tosses the goddess Epona back in time to a mobster’s speakeasy in Mind Your Goddess. Jazz and gin serve as cover while she searches to regain her powers. A goddess makes a heavenly flapper!

WHO

Aedar – Remember the part above about “big hunky”? As an Irish, leather-clad warrior, Aedar stirs the wytchfae Seraphina’s blood in Time Singer.


Gabriel – As a banished elemental angel, Lord of Fire’s Gabriel is a brooding loner until he meets his match in the fiery wytchfae, Garnet.


Eshigel – Passionate dark guardian of the desolate portal that separates worlds, in Mind Your Goddess he would give his domain and his soul for the goddess Epona. In fact, he has.

Take a vacation while traveling light! Choose your own WHERE, WHEN, and WHO through books. If Fantasy Romance is among your fancies, feel free to browse the titles in the Wytchfae Series.

As always, thanks for reading!


Flossie Benton Rogers, Conjuring the Magic with Spirited Stories

When is a Fish Not a Fish

When a Fish is Not a Fish

by

Loretta C. Rogers

(The Fishy Origins of The Red Herring)

I grew up in a family that loved to fish. We didn’t use rod and reels. Nope! It was cane poles with a line, a hook and a bobber. Red wrigglers or crickets were the bait of choice. I have to admit that I didn’t like getting worm poop on my fingers so I mostly used crickets. We dipped our corks for all types of fresh water fish: stump knockers, brim, warmouth perch, blue gill, and catfish, to name a few. Fishing was usually a family affair. My grandparents, various aunts and uncles, and a passel of cousins gathered along the banks of a creek, a lake, or a river. We were poor and couldn’t afford a boat. As we lined the banks there was no laughing or talking or complaining. No sirree, fishing was a serious business. After a day’s catch, we’d load up the 

cars and head home.

The best part of family fishing wasn’t who caught the biggest fish or who caught the most—nope! It was the eatin’. To enjoy the feast everyone pitched in. Granny would always say, “If you want to eat, you gotta earn your keep.” We young’uns would scale the fish, the men would clean out the innards, and the women would fry ‘em up along with a large pot of grits and piles hushpuppies. Yum! Afterwards, the uncles would break out the guitars and serenade us.

These are some good childhood memories, but what does this have to do with when a fish is not a fish? Well, you know me I’m not going to keep you in suspense.

Back to my childhood (one more time). Herring is smoked fish in a can. Granny always said herring, especially red herring, was for rich folks.  Now let’s fast forward to present day and my primary topic.

As an author of mostly Historical romance, I decided to challenge myself and write a cozy mystery series; and let me tell you, it has been a challenge. This is when I learned that a red herring isn’t a fish. Rather, a red herring is a story clue that is intended to be misleading or distracting and leads the sleuth away from the villain.

Being the inquisitive person that I am, I wondered how a story clue came to be named after a fish. I found a couple of interesting explanations: 1) “In the 1600’s when early settlers hunted, they would leave red herring along their trail because the strong fishy smell would confuse wolves which is the origin of the expression red herring meaning "a false trail." 2) “British fugitives in the 1800s would rub the pungent odor of a herring across their trail, thereby diverting the bloodhounds that were hot in pursuit.”

When writing a mystery, I try to keep a balance between the real evidence and clues and the false ones. Readers love a puzzle, but they don’t want to be tricked. This is why I try not to have more than three red herrings in each mystery story.

Use red herrings as a device in the middle section of your story to build tension. When you’ve built a strong protagonist, the reader will believe, as the protagonist does, that a true clue is at the root of the discovery path.

Also, a little advice to writers: make sure the red herrings you create integrate with the overall theme and mystery otherwise these clues may feel as if you have padded the story just to make word count.

Flashback to childhood: When I’d get discouraged because everyone around me was catching fish, my granddaddy would say: “Spit on the worm,” or he’d say, “You’re not holding your mouth right.”

Just like I expected to catch fish, readers expect red herrings in a mystery. Readers enjoy rooting for your sleuth and discovering how he or she meets each challenge to solve the crime and catch the criminal. Keep your readers guessing with well-placed false clues to enhance your storyline.

And that, folks, is when a fish is not a fish.

Who Cares About Setting?

Who Cares About Setting?

When I pick my next book to read, locale isn’t my first consideration. I’m looking for enchanting characters in a mesmerizing story. So, perhaps where the adventure takes place isn’t important. Location is the backdrop, the icing on the cake which adds sweetness but not substance, right?

However, have you ever read stories that could have happened anywhere? Those books usually aren’t memorable. Exotic or captivating venues add a riveting facet to a saga. Without the Australian outback, The Thornbirds by Colleen McCullough would have been excellent, but not nearly as haunting. The moors of England add mystery and a gothic feel to the classic romance Wuthering Heights (Charlotte Bronte). The best example of the importance of the environment may be Outlander by Diana Gabaldon. What if Claire landed somewhere besides the Scottish Highlands? Unthinkable! In these and many more romances, setting becomes another character, provides realistic detail, and transports the reader to other lands.

When writers plot a book, one of the things we consider first is: where does this happen? What makes this site the best one for this story? The paranormal romances I write take place mostly in Tarpon Springs, Florida. Since many of the characters are mermaids who shift to human form on land but need to return to water frequently, they must live near the sea. I chose Tarpon Springs because it’s a unique small town on the west coast. With a sponge diving history, sugar sand beaches, distinctive shops, Greek culture, and delicious food, it’s fascinating and charming. Also, I haven’t read any other love stories set there, so it’s an original selection. It’s my hometown. I already loved it and knew a lot about it before I started writing the first book. Because of all these factors, Tarpon Springs was the ideal choice for my debut novel, Water Dreams, Love’s Siren Song Book I  

In the coastal Florida town of Tarpon Springs, Nik Aronopulos avoids the bayou and swimming pools. She never goes to the beach and shuns restaurants with views of the bay. When a gorgeous but arrogant merman reveals his kind exist and informs her they plan to study her, she's stunned. She's not special... or so she thinks.

Bas is tasked with compelling Nik to help his people overcome the need to rejuvenate in the Gulf of Mexico, so they won't dehydrate and die. Although they can appear human, their dependence on the sea prevents them from living where and how they wish, and it's his job to obtain her cooperation. There's just one problem - the girl he's determined to capture is hooking his heart.

When a bullet meant for Nik strikes Bas, saving him means facing her worst fear. Her decision plunges her into a desperate journey where survival depends on the male who once terrified her.

As their feelings for one another intensify, their forbidden relationship endangers Nik, her family, and the water dwellers who must remain a myth.

Water Dreams is available through all digital bookstores and the publisher, Foundations Books.

Here’s the Amazon link:https://www.amazon.com/Water-Dreams-Loves-Siren-Song-ebook/dp/B01IE3FWDE 

If you would like more information about me or my books, please visit my website. Sign up for my quarterly newsletter and I’ll send you a free short story!

 http://katherineeddingersmits.weebly.com/

                                                             

                                                             

                                                                   

My Heroes: Flawed but Heroic, by Jennifer Taylor

Greetings! Welcome to another Pen Dame Blog

I write a Historical Romance series called Rhythm of the Moon. It’s set in an 18^th Century port town teaming with history and activity: pirates, smugglers, ne’er-do-wells, a rowdy, but welcoming ancient inn, and seekers of love and evil. Adventure is always rolling in, like the waves crashing against the dock of King’s Harbour. My mission is to give voice to heroes (and heroines) who may be flawed but gifted in their own way.

In the first book, Mercy of the Moon, midwife Maggie Wilson must face the harrowing challenge of reviving her beloved sister, who has suffered and survived the most horrifying ordeal imaginable. She is mysteriously altered. Coming to Maggie’s aid is the newly arrived Ian Pierce, home from his world travels to take over the family apothecary shop after his brother’s death.

Ian has returned from overseas, where he has been in search of a cure for his affliction, now called bipolar disorder. It is both his strength and his weakness. He pays his way around the world playing music and entertainment. He has boundless energy and brilliant good humor in his good days and suffers from debilitating melancholy in the worst of times. He experiences the beauty of boundless energy and the black hole of despair.

How can someone like Ian be a hero? From the first sight of her, he is determined to treasure and care for her. The power of his music mesmerizes and opens Maggie up to emotions she never dared hope to feel. He makes this hard-working and selfless woman the townspeople call “the workhorse” feel treasured for the first time in her life. He makes her laugh with his uninhibited joy and energy. He uses humor and music to deflect conflict and make the town a safer place. And when Maggie needs him most, he gives his all to protect her.

As they work together to fight superstition and evil, their attraction grows.

Mercy of the Moon is the first in the series about challenged and deserving heroes and heroines.

 https://www.amazon.com/Mercy-Moon-Rhythm-Jennifer-Taylor-ebook/dp/B00O0EPZCA/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=mercy+of+the+moon+jennifer+taylor&qid=1591810947&sr=8-1 

                                                                                                                                   

Perks of Being a Writer by Linda Tillis

Folks often ask me why I write. That seems like a straightforward question, but the answer is so winding.

It started as a sort of therapy. After twenty-seven years in two separate fields of law enforcement I need to "clear" my head.  I think less now about why I write, and more about the things I love about being a writer.

One of those enjoyable perks is meeting new people. I have done several radio interviews and loved every minute of them.

I did three in-person, live-on-air interviews with Robin MacBlane and Larry Whitler on WOCA Radio in Ocala, Florida.  I was very nervous for the first one and just knew that I would make a fool of myself. The two of them were such professionals that they were able to make me sound reasonably intelligent. Then, of course, the next two with them were smooth as silk.

Then, I was fortunate to have a writer friend, April Hollingworth, who is also studying Communications and worked at the college radio station, Juice, in Cork, Ireland. Now that was fun! I had to study a little so when I mentioned some locations in a book I'm working on, I didn’t mispronounce them and offend anyone.

Recently, I was interviewed by Russ Avison, on The Writers Block. This show is on LA Talk Radio, located in Los Angeles.  Russ was so easy to talk with and immediately put me at ease.

Each interview makes me a little more comfortable in my "writers’ skin".  I don't think of myself as an author until I am sitting in front of my computer. So, when I attend book signings, or do interviews, I am humbled and grateful that folks take the time to meet with me, listen to me, or buy my books.

I consider each event a gift that makes me feel very blessed, and I hope to continue writing, and making wonderful new friends for many years.

You can see my first interview here.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wl_dLqXJgb4